Mathoms
by The Winterwitch
Summary: Ficlets and Drabbles for many occasions, once through Middle-earth and eventually all ages. Characters so far: Gimli Elrond, Aragorn Gilraen, Haldir Brego, Faramir. Four (Crossover with Harry Potter): Minerva introduces Severus to a beloved book, and Faramir has a strange dream. Can this all be coincidence?
1. Mathoms

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Gimli, Elrond, Bilbo Baggins

**Notes**: For curiouswombat, who inspired this plotbunny and introduced Gimli's involvement. Written for the Snowflake Challenge 2014, Day 7. Many thanks to shadowycat for the super fast beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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**Mathoms**

by Winterwitch

Muttering into his beard, Gimli trudged off towards Rivendell's smithy. A conversation overheard at breakfast had given him an idea, but he had to tinker about a bit first before he wanted to talk about it. As usual he was more a dwarf of action than of words, preferring to let his handiwork speak for him.

At the smithy, friendly smiles greeted him and a silent nod directed him to a free workbench. He had been there before, making friends among those who shared his love for metalwork and smith-craft, and knew his way around already quite well. Collecting the material he wanted to work with, he also found several sets of pliers and set to work. Not long before he had fashioned himself some long strips of copper as thin as he could manage, about half an inch in width and easily pliable. Now he was set to try out the idea he'd thought of while listening to the Hobbits talking to one of the kitchen elves.

Picking up one of the copper bands and some flat pliers, his dexterous hands began to form a shape with the band, now making sharp angles, now carefully bending it in rounded shapes. Finished, he couldn't help but exclaim a loud, satisfied, "Ha!", which drew the attention of the other smiths to him. They came over, curious about what the Master Dwarf was doing, and listened with admiration when he explained what he was creating. Master Galeas, the Master Smith, offered to do the soldering of the finished piece for the dwarf, which Gimli gladly accepted, while the others made suggestions and asked questions.

Soon, a whole collection of different shapes were finished, soldered, filed and polished, and ready to be put to the test. Thanking his workmates profusely, he went off with his work, to find the kitchens.

He was intercepted by the old Hobbit, Mr. Bilbo, who couldn't help but notice what the dwarf had in his hands, and, not getting an answer when he asked what it was, followed Gimli to the kitchens, calling his nephew and his friends when they passed them to come and see. One of the men joined them as well, and in the end the whole procession invaded the kitchen, much to the head cook's dismay. But when he saw what the short guest was bringing, all was forgiven.

"Look here, everybody, what this ingenious dwarf has concocted!" he exclaimed. But not everybody was so quick on the uptake, and puzzled faces met his delighted gaze.

"Don't you see? These are made for cutting out biscuits, in all kinds of shapes! Here, look, a flower, and this is a star, and a tree, a horse, a cat, and a dragon even! And these are -"

"A wizard, a man, an elf, a hobbit and a dwarf!," Lord Elrond completed who had been passing by when the small caravan went off to the kitchen and couldn't resist following. "Bravo, Master Dwarf, this is a wonderful addition to our kitchen equipment. And I think a group of all these will make a wonderful fellowship, not only as biscuits on my tea-table."

-oOo-

Note: biscuits (UK) = cookies (US)


	2. The same old tale?

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Aragorn, Gilraen

**Note**: Written in response to cairistiona7's Snowflake challenge wish, asking for Aragorn h/c with unusual caregivers, for her birthday. Happy Birthday!  
Many thanks to shadowycat for the super-fast beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

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**The same old tale?**

by Winterwitch

"Ai, mother, leave it be! I'd rather wait for Elrond."

Gilraen looked up from the process of cutting her stubborn son's boot from his quickly swelling foot, raising her left eyebrow in a perfect imitation of the Lord of Imladris' most typical quirk.

"Do you really want to bother your foster father with something as trivial as a sprained ankle when he sits in council with half of Middle-earth? I'm fully capable of seeing to it. Besides, you know well enough it will only get worse if you wait."

"Hmpf." Aragorn crossed his arms in tacit but reluctant acquiescence, finally letting his mother continue. He tried not to flinch when she turned the injured limb a bit to proceed. When the boot was off, she applied a strong-smelling liniment to the swollen joint and started to bandage it with firm hands.

"Valar, son, you are a disgrace! When did the use of water and soap become a strange concept for you?"

Aragorn blushed to the roots of his equally unkempt hair. "Mother, you know how it is, I -"

Gilraen cut him short, rolling her eyes. "Stop it, I know the tale. You are a ranger, living in the wild without access to the comforts of elven or even human dwellings, and the dirt also serves as disguise when you have to hide…. I know the tale."

Aragorn, who was just about to start a lengthy explanation, was cut short. "What?"

Gilraen cleaned her hands and stood up. "Well, at least that was what your father always told me."

"Oh." Aragorn digested the unexpected glimpse into his father's life. Then he cleared his throat. "It wasn't what I was going to say, though."

"What is it, then?" Gingerly, she picked up the grubby cloak her son had dropped when he had limped into the room and carried it to a basket.

Aragorn cleared his throat again. "Well, you see, out there with the Rangers, they always make fun of me with my elven upbringing, when I wash my hair or my clothes. It's simply easier if I get grubby and dirty, and smell as sweaty as them."

Gilraen stopped short. "I see." She had never expected anything like that! With a sigh, she crossed her arms and took in her son's appearance. "But be that as it may, you're a grown boy now, and it's simply not acceptable to remain in this state while you are in Imladris. Off with you to the bathing house - no, I'm not even letting you close to the indoor baths with this filth on you!"

Mumbling under his breath, Aragorn carefully got up and, after successfully testing to see if his injured foot would bear his weight, limped out.

"Take fresh clothes with you!" his mother called after him.

"Yes, nana!"

Grinning, Gilraen cleared away the utensils she had used. Her son might be nearing his sixtieth begetting day and an experienced leader of his rangers, but sometimes, he behaved just like he had as a boy.

-oOo-


	3. New Friends

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Haldir, Brego, Felaróf

**Note**: A stray plotbunny, quickly caught and turned into a little gift ficlet for kenaz. Happy Birthday!  
Many thanks to cairistiona7 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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**New Friends  
**

by Winterwitch

Dusk was approaching, and the heavy rain hadn't lessened all day. Haldir huddled under the eaves of the cabin, trying to ignore the steady dribble from a leak in the roof onto his left shoulder and the stares of the Men who were standing guard, and wished he were somewhere else. Somewhere warm, dry and comfortable with a nice dinner and a decent goblet of wine.

It didn't look like he would get any of that in the foreseeable future, though. By the void, why did he have to volunteer for this miserable task? It had sounded much more exciting when Lord Celeborn had asked him to serve as his bodyguard for a meeting with the new king of Men in the south. He hadn't travelled beyond the Limlight for centuries and was eager to see the vast plains of Calenardhon again, and the famous horses of the men.

Reality looked much different. It had started to rain at the very moment they left the forest, and the rain hadn't left off during the whole long ride to this miserable settlement at the northernmost border of this new country, where Lord Celeborn meant to meet Eorl of the Éothéod. Which he did, as soon as they arrived, while Haldir hadn't even been asked inside, just been pointed towards his current place. Instead of refreshments or any offer of comfort, all he had received all day had been more or less curious stares, some of them bordering on the indecent. Hadn't they ever seen an elf before? Probably not, he thought, and neither a male with a beardless face or well-developed legs, if he went by where their stares came to rest.

With a sigh, he straightened, shrugging deeper under his hood. No matter his lord's plans for good neighbourly relations, Haldir didn't intend to change anyone's perception of elven hardiness and endurance, or aloofness, for that matter, and would never let on how tired, cold or hungry he was.

A soft snort caught his attention. Someone had opened a stable door, and warm light came out from a building much larger and better built than the cabin which obviously was the main lodging of the settlement. Ignoring the looks and questions from the guards - he didn't understand them anyway, which they knew very well after a day of futile attempts at conversation without a common language - he followed the inviting light.

Inside, quiet activity indicated feeding time, and he noted with pleasure that their own steeds were already fed and well-looked after. Nobody paid him any heed, and he made his way down the aisle, taking in the equine beauties in every stall. He had wanted to see their horses, and horses he did see!

One attracted him particularly, a white stallion, a bit smaller than the others.

"Hello there, proud one," he said, offering his hand to the stallion's nose. "You are quite a beauty and you know it, don't you? Such strong legs, such sleek muscles. I've no doubt you'll run like the wind."

Whispering endearments and nonsense in the firm belief that nobody would understand him anyway, he leaned closer to the white horse, caressing the soft nostrils and then letting his hand wander tenderly up the nose and to the mane. He found that particularly itchy spot and scratched it dutifully, earning him a contented snort and puffs in his left ear.

"You have a good eye for horses," a voice said in broken Sindarin. It took all of Haldir's self-restraint to not spin around and spook his new friend. Instead, he turned slowly, meeting the eyes of a young man with hair as blond as his own. Haldir inclined his head.

"Your horses are famous, and I was curious to see them for myself," he said.

The other nodded. "And you chose the noblest among them to befriend." A smile warmed the bearded face. "Felaróf allows the touch of very few people, and only my father may ride him."

"Felaróf… then this is the famous progenitor of your - your - how do you call them?"

"Mearas, and yes, he is. But come now, Haldir, our lords have finished their council. It is time to eat and drink!"

The man clapped his arm on Haldir's shoulder, steering him back towards the cabin.  
Haldir heard loud voices as well as laughter, and when they stopped inside, an enticing aroma made his mouth water.

These men weren't so bad after all, he thought a bit later, sitting with warm feet and filled stomach between his lord and the king's son. He raised his tankard to be filled again. 

-(o)- 

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_Note_: In the Third Age, the Éothéod, the horse-people from the valley of the Anduin, were given the province of Calenardhon by Cirion, Steward of Gondor as a reward for their support in battle. They renamed themselves the Eorlingas, the followers of Eorl, and their land became later known as Rohan. Felaróf, the ancestor of the mearas, was a wild horse caught by Eorl's father whose death he caused, and, caught again by a young Eorl, agreed to serve him as payment, as the horse understood the speech of men. He only allowed Eorl to ride him and was said to be beautiful, proud and strong. Brego is Eorl's son.


	4. Coincidence? (Crossover)

For Shadowycat. Happy belated Birthday!

**Characters:** Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Faramir  
**Genre:** Crossover  
**Disclaimer**: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's and JKR Rowling's creatings, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
**Notes:** Many thanks to cairistiona7 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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**Coincidence?**

by Winterwitch

"That was surprisingly fun, Minerva. I can't deny that you have been, once again, correct in your assumption: I did indeed like this."

Minerva valiantly hid her smirk behind her wineglass. She had tried for several years now to convince Severus to watch the movie trilogy with her, but it had taken a lost bet for him to finally give in. His stubborn pride, as always - he would never have admitted actually having read the book, though the absence of dust on the volume she had surreptitiously placed on his night-stand was all the evidence necessary, considering the usual state of his furniture. And now they had seen _The Lord of the Rings_ together, a pleasure she had longed to share with him as much as her love for the book.

"You could have told me earlier, though, that I would be seeing a familiar face among the actors," Severus remarked, not looking up from his crossword.

"What familiar face?" She looked at him with surprise.

"Lupin. He played that Ranger fellow in the green cloak, wait, in the scene where they also had the elephants in disguise…" **.**

Minerva was gob-smacked. Could Severus be right? He knew Remus so much better than herself, and now that she came to think of it, Remus had been abroad for an extended time at the time the movie had been filmed…

"You can't be serious," she finally stated.

Severus smirked at her. "Do you want to bet on it?"

-(o)-

In another time at another place, a figure huddled in a green cloak shifted in its sleep. He awoke with a gasp, heart beating fast, staring ahead into the darkness.

The fire had burned down, the last glow from the embers giving off just enough faint light to reveal the sleeping shapes around him and glint on the dagger of the watching guard. Reassured, Faramir lay back, waiting for his heartbeat to quieten and his breath to calm.

It had just been a dream, though the sense of realism it carried made it hard to adjust to the reality of the camp. He had been somewhere else, in a time and place completely unfamiliar to him, with people dressed in the strangest way, and there had been danger. Another Dark Lord, another war, and a dark-clad figure he felt fiercely protective about. He had somehow known that person was in danger, had followed him down many steps to a small building, and then there had been a huge snake…

Faramir shuddered. By the Void, what had been in that flask his lieutenant had shared over their meagre dinner? He couldn't remember ever having such a strange, vivid dream before. Was this a simple dream, or some kind of premonition?

A cold shiver ran over his back as he remembered the large beast jabbing out and biting and the devastating pain when he watched the life drain from the strangely familiar man's eyes. Was this really only a dream?

_- End - _


End file.
